flicker
by astral symphony
Summary: ONESHOT   "That's what I don't understand. You're the one who showed up at my doorstep during the hols. I didn't ask you here." "I know," she said quietly. "Why did you come here?" he asked.


**author's note: **a little one-shot that I wrote in about an hour-and-a-half today. random and fluffy. read & review if you like, and keep an eye out for my multi-chapter fic that will be coming soon!

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><p>The flames all flickered between them, swaying rhythmically, sending colour and shadow all around the room and them. She focused her attention on the largest, center candle, resisting the eyes she knew were on her, pleading for her to look up. She couldn't look at him, and she was thankful for the table full of lit candles in front of her – the perfect distraction.<p>

"_You_ came here," he said finally, breaking the silence. He was on the edge of his seat, leaning forward – an attempt to close the space between them. His words, his exhale sent the candles' flames on an erratic tangent before settling back into their peaceful dance.

"James –"

"That's what I don't understand. _You_'_re _the one who showed up at my doorstep during the hols. I didn't ask you here."

"I know," she said quietly.

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

There was plea in his voice. She knew it was a terrible idea to come here – of course, she realised this only once it was too late: when she knocked on the door, and his father answered and, before she could apparate away, called for James that he had a visitor. Now, she was sitting in a small parlour, silent and unable to look him in the eye.

"If you're not going to _say_ anything, would you at least look at me?" He was frustrated; she could hear it in his voice. He jumped up from his seat, rubbing his hands over his face. "_Bloody hell_, _Lily_! Why are you here?"

She was asking herself the same thing – but she couldn't tell him that. Instead, she reached for her bag, stood up and, despite her better instincts, met his eye. "I'm sorry." James looked at her expectantly for more. She smoothed the creases in her skirt, busying herself. "I'm sorry," she said again, "I really should not have come here. On Christmas Eve, no less. There's an extravagant-looking party going on downstairs that I pulled you away from, and your parents must think I've shown up to invite myself. I truly had no idea. It _is_ getting late, though, and I should –"

"You're rambling."

"Yes. Yes I am."

"I don't mind that you're here," he said. "I'm glad you're here, actually."

She took in a quick breath, eager to avoid that dangerous territory. "You look nice," she said instead. And he did; Lily had never seen him look so put together. He, like the adults she caught glimpse of downstairs, wore dress robes. They were solid black in colour and had intricate silvery embroidery along the collar and shoulders. His hair was almost tamed, even.

"I hate these things," he said, looking down at his attire. "Mum loves them, though. I, personally, think I look like a git. Frankly, those muggle blokes have the right idea with their shoots."

"Suits," she corrected with a smile. "And while you may think that, 'those muggle blokes' usually hate wearing them. It seems to be a universal truth that men, all men, hate dressing up."

"I wouldn't hate it if I got to wear one of those suit-things."

"If you say so."

"Say so, I do," he said.

"That makes no sense," she laughed. James met her eyes and laughed as well. It was a nice sound, she thought, their laughter – nice enough, even, to make her heartbeat quicken. She rather felt like one of those flames, dormant until provoked, at which point it was loud and fast, primitive almost.

The laughter faded into silence, but her heart was still flickering rampantly in her chest. Lily pulled her cardigan taut across herself. "I should really go."

His featured settled into a frown; she looked at the floor and started towards the parlour door.

"Lily, wait. Please." She paused and looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. "If you really feel you need to go, that's all right. But I need to know why you came here."

Lily reached into her bag, feeling for the slim, rectangular box she knew resided in there. Upon finding it, she wrapped her fingers around it, withdrew it, and held it out to him. He looked from the thin, black box to her face, confused. When he didn't take it, she threw him a slightly exasperated look and gestured at him with the box. Tentatively, James took it from her hands. He sat on the arm of the chair closest to him and untied the sleek, silver ribbon before lifting the top.

"It's really silly," she said as he looked at the gift, "and just a little something. It was extremely last minute. I saw it, and remembered how you're always losing or breaking your quills so I figured you could use a new one. I thought: maybe if it's from – a gift, you'll be more inclined to keep it safe. So. That's that. Happy Christmas, James."

"I didn't get you anything," he said with a frown. "So now, not only do I _look_ like a git, I'm acting like one, too."

She smiled. "You aren't. Don't worry about it. Honestly, it was nothing."

He stood up and, before she could protest or recoil, pulled her into a hug. There was more rampant flickering, which she tried to ignore. That was no easy feat, since she could feel the vibrations of his voice when he spoke, and there was something comforting in that.

"Thank you. It's not nothing. This is a lovely gift, and it means a lot that it came from you, as stupid as that sound. But it's true. Happy Christmas, Lily. I'm going to make it up to you."

"You don't have to," she muttered and leaned back so she could look at him while still remaining in his arms. "I should go now."

"So you've said," he said with a smile; she couldn't help but smile, too. "Before you go, can I ask you a question?"

"Do you have to?"

He laughed, and the sound was refreshing. It drowned out the loud thumping of her chest that had been filling her ears. "I guess I don't have to, but I would really like to."

"All right," she conceded. His hands were warm on her back and she wished he would pull her into a hug again. All the while, the flickering in her chest remained unsettled.

"You came to my house in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve to give me a gift that easily could have been owled. Lily, do you fancy me?"

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in the faintest of smiles; she wasn't sure if he caught it.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes," he said, confused.

"Will you kiss me already?"

And when he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and leaned down, the flickering slowed, content. He met her eyes, their noses almost touching, her hands finding his shoulders. "Is that even a question?" he asked, and before she could even think about a retort, his mouth found hers and he kissed her. It was slow and sweet, exploratory and new, teaching and learning – a freshly lit flame, growing and expanding and coming into its own, flickering now-and-then before settling into something similar to near-perfection.


End file.
